Invictus
by did-you-reboot
Summary: When Commander Shepard's body turns up in stasis in the Perseus Veil twenty-seven years after the Reaper War, it is not without good reason. When that reason is a race more powerful than even the Reapers, the galaxy must rally once more against insurmountable odds. Post Destroy. Femshep.
1. Janus

**Invictus**

* * *

><p><strong>I: Janus<strong>

_A rumble shook the facility down to its foundations, raining dust and ceiling fragments down upon the frantic researchers desperately working at their faltering terminals. _

"_EVAC ONE PROTOCOLS NOW IN EFFECT. REPEAT: EVAC ONE PROTOCOLS NOW IN EFFECT."_

"_Shit shit shit, how did they find us?"_

_Another rumble threw the four scientists to the floor as all electric equipment shut down, drawing a string of expletives from the scientists struggling to their feet. They were bathed in the dim glow of the emergency lights before the equipment hummed back into life. As though the light of the flicker equipment lit a fire underneath them, the four scrambled upright and ran down the debris-littered corridors as fast as the intermittent quaking would allow._

"_Ma'am! Invictus Beacon has been activated!"_

"_Invictus Prime status?"_

"_Invictus Prime loaded onto shuttle, ma'am! Shuttle ready to deploy!"_

_There was a rumble and a strangled scream as the corridor collapsed, swallowing up the scientist in the rear of the group. The remaining three got to their feet, with the salarian and the asari looking desperately to the human for something — anything — that could get them out alive. A flicker of emotion crossed her weary face — pity, or perhaps compassion in the face of their impending doom — before she pushed them toward the shuttle bay._

"_You two, get on the shuttle! Your job is to get it out of the system at all costs! I'll stay here to help hold them off!"_

_The salarian opened his mouth to argue, but a look from the asari told him that their mission was far too important to argue now._

"_It has been an honor, doctor," he said simply._

_The doctor stood, sorrowful eyes watching as the salarian and asari nodded solemnly to her before disappearing into the shuttle bay corridor. She hoped dearly that all the work that had gone into Project Invictus was worth it — that all the secrecy, all the unethical and likely immoral decisions she had made in the past three years — that in the end, it would be all be worth it._

_And as she took to the failing controls of the crumbling facility defenses, hoping to buy time for the shuttle to escape —_

_She hoped that Invictus Prime might someday forgive her._

* * *

><p>"Ma'am, a quarian cruiser has notified the docks that they are approaching and are requesting emergency medical support and a small C-Sec escort upon docking."<p>

Zoya Matviyenko looked up from her terminal at her assistant and would have given him a curious — yet severe — look over the rim of her glasses if humans still bothered with such inconveniences. "Not that I'm not concerned that a quarian cruiser may have run into trouble, but why are you telling me this?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. As current human member of the Citadel Council and _quite _a busy woman, the troubles of the quarians were generally out of her scope.

Her assistant, unfazed by Matviyenko's less-than-warm reply, continued, "They've requested emergency medical support for a _human_, it seems."

"_That's_ interesting," said Matviyenko, leaning back into her chair and lacing her fingers together. Interesting indeed; perhaps the request for C-Sec escort indicated the capture of a human criminal? Although that would be _quite _odd, especially considering that she had not been contacted about any such thing. "Any word on who is in charge of the ship?"

"Evidently Admiral Zorah."

"Admiral Zorah?" Matviyenko said in surprise. "What human could they possibly be escorting to the Citadel that Admiral Zorah has come along?"

"I don't know, ma'am. They refused to elaborate — apparently stating that it was best to defer any judgments until it can be verified conclusively."

"I see. I want eyes and ears out there. Find out who this human is and why the quarians have them."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p>Admiral Tali'Zorah vas Neema stood calmly before the airlock, years of experience allowing her to deftly mask the anxiety within. When a patrol ship had notified the Admiralty Board of the derelict, unmarked frigate drifting through a remote corner of the Perseus Veil and, more importantly, what was being held in that frigate, neither she nor the other admirals could believe what the patrol was saying. It wasn't until she saw for herself that she could even begin to wrap her mind around it, though there had been precious little time to do said wrapping considering the state of the ship and its unbelievable cargo. She still wasn't sure what to make of this find and, should the doctors and scientists at the Citadel verify its identity and safety, the implications of its discovery.<p>

She let out a near-silent sigh of relief at the hurried approach of the emergency medical transport and the drell leading the small contingent of C-Sec officers. "Admiral Zorah," said Commander Kolyat Krios, nodding and standing at respectful attention.

"Commander Krios, thank you for handling this personally. This is a situation that must be handled with discretion, and — well, let me just show you," said Tali, turning her head ever so slightly toward the ship behind her. "Rahsa, open the airlock."

The airlock doors slid open to reveal two armed crewmen standing vigil over a pod covered with a white sheet. They lowered their guns at the sight of their admiral and stepped aside as Tali led Kolyat to the pod, lifting the sheet slightly to allow him a look. He peered down and almost immediately the clench in his jaw and the slight widening of his eyes betrayed his shock, and it took him a moment to find his voice again.

"I — I understand your concerns," he said, once he'd regained his composure. "I will personally escort her to Huerta Memorial and ensure the area is locked down."

"Thank you. I'll forward you details about the pod once I've made a — made a few calls."

Tali watched in silence as the medical transport took the pod away, with Kolyat and his men at the front and rear. Her eyes lingered on the door leading out of the docking bay, mind racing as she went over and over who would be most pertinent to contact. She had been calmly mulling it over while they traveled from the Perseus Veil and had thought that her plan of action had been perfect, but now that she was here in the Citadel with pod en route to Huerta Memorial...she was faltering.

Liara had immediately sprung to mind when Tali had first seen the pod; while the Shadow Broker was certainly going to catch wind of this eventually, Tali liked to think that she had been careful enough with communications and access to the pod that Liara would still be none the wiser. Yes, Liara was a clear choice.

Contacting Garrus seemed obvious — though Tali couldn't help but feel conflicted. She had seen the pain he had been in, and she had seen him grow to accept it and finally move on with his life...But still, it didn't feel right to not tell him.

It didn't feel right at all.

She stood in the Captain's Cabin of the Neema, a finger hovering over the terminal. She still couldn't believe that she was about to relay this message, that she was the one who _could_…

"_Hello, Tali. It's not often that you contact me using this channel._"

"Liara. You — you need to come to the Citadel. It's — it's important," said Tali, wringing her hands and feeling slightlty grateful that none of her crew were present to see their Admiral so anxious.

"_I've received reports that you were escorting something to the Citadel. Is it related to that?_"

"Yes."

"_What is it? Is it dangerous?_"

"No, we — we found Shepard."

Silence.

"_Her — her body?_"

"No. Alive."

Another silence. Longer this time.

"Liara?"

"..._By the goddess._"

* * *

><p>A small drone hovered around the small team of doctors and nurses surrounding the damaged pod that Tali had delivered. The operating room and adjacent hospital ward had been locked down as tightly as possible by Kolyat, with absolutely no access to the areas unless specifically authorized by him and the hospital director. Any and all glass panels were rendered completely opaque and all security cameras in the two areas deactivated, which necessitated the use of the drone to make a visual recording of the events about to unfold. Huerta Memorial's director had selected the hospital's best and most trustworthy doctors and nurses at Kolyat's behest, and the opportunity said doctors and nurses had just been given lent an air of giddiness to the room.<p>

"Is the stasis controller damaged?"

"No, no, it's fine. Pod itself shows moderate to severe damage to outer hull and viewport, however the controller is undamaged."

"Good. Preliminary scans show that she sustained no skeletal damage — should be safe to move her. Looks like some unhealed lacerations and blunt trauma to face, likely sustained prior to going into stasis...Go ahead and wake her up. Prepare for transfusion in case the bleeding is severe."

"All right. Deactivating stasis in three...two...one..."

A hiss filled the room.

The doctors sprang into action.

"Quick, get her on the table and cut this armor off her. It's currently unpowered — laser cutter should be fine."

"This armor...it's all old Kassa Fabrication stuff. I haven't seen these models in over twenty years…"

"Full-body dermal augmentations evident — scarring likely from procedure — appears unhealed due to damage sustained by pod —"

"She's stabilizing. Start on the lacerations while I run a scan on her synthetic implants…"

"Medi-gel sufficient for facial lacerations — applying now."

"Scans indicate that location and function of implants more or less matches last known records...Implant signatures have changed, seems the Cerberus ones have been replaced and others added. New implants acting as replacements to left ulna, left wrist, right fifth rib, left first and sixth ribs, and vertebral column from Th11 to L4. Damage likely sustained when the Crucible fired. Currently unclear what purpose the dermal implants serve..."

Brown eyes fluttered open.

"She's regaining consciousness — !"

Dry lips struggled to form words as the eyes struggled to focus.

"We need to calm her down...Administering sedative now."

A croak escaped a parched throat.

"R-Reapers."

For a split second, all eyes flitted toward the face on the table as it desperately looked to them, searching for answers.

For one answer.

"Rea — Reapers, are they — ?"

A doctor gently took the hands that were feebly trying to push its body upright.

"It's all right. The Reapers are gone," said the doctor. He smiled down as comprehension bloomed behind the eyes staring back at him. "You did it.

You did it, Commander Shepard."

The tiniest laugh of relief escaped Commander Shepard's mouth.

"Ah — I — I…"

Commander Shepard drifted off into unconsciousness with a smile.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The urge to write/draw Mass Effect just kinda hit me over the head after I finished ME3. So yeah. Here's a chapter of something. It's a bit disjointed, but hopefully future chapters won't be so bad. Also I mostly threw it together during small work breaks, so I don't know how fast I can update. Oops._


	2. Fortuna

**Invictus**

* * *

><p><strong>II: Fortuna<strong>

An all-encompassing sense of peace was a nice feeling to have, and it was a feeling that Commander Riva Shepard seldom woke up to. But as her mind slowly crawled from the void of unconsciousness, it was the first feeling it found and, as such, was the feeling it doggedly latched onto. As her mind pulled itself from the void, sense of peace in hand, it found more and more sensations to collect: warmth, softness, quiet...All feelings that had been far too infrequent in her life, all feelings that had been previously overshadowed by other more pressing matters. Her mind slowly meandered through this comforting fog, and whether she spent minutes or years gently holding onto these feelings, it felt as though it didn't matter. Because she had done it.

She had done it.

And with that, the magic was broken.

Her mind kicked into gear as the comforting fog dissipated, replaced by a gradual, creeping awareness of her body — from the warmth came the sensation of sheets on her skin, and from the quiet, a rhythmic whirring drifting into her ears. The whirring rhythm acted as a metronome, keeping her mind from slipping back into the void as it struggled to recall what, exactly, had happened between now and —

And —

The Reapers.

She had...shot at something. And there had been explosions...and pain. And some child who had said things that she remembers were absurd and made little sense.

How had she lived through those explosions? Through whatever choice that child had given her?

She tried to open her eyes, and found that her body wasn't quite ready to move. Or, perhaps, it had forgotten that it had the means. She tried once more, and found again that her eyelids refused to budge. The rhythm of the whirs kept her anchored as she summoned the strength to do the one little thing; surely Commander Shepard, who had managed to do a little thing like uniting the entire galaxy against an enemy with overwhelming power, could open her eyes. But after what felt like hours and hours of trying, the whirring eventually stopped, leaving only a vague feeling in what may have been her arm and the silence that filled her ears.

The whirring had been comforting in a way, and as though to pursue the whirring — to find out where it was going and why it was leaving — her body managed to crack an eyelid open. Her vision was poor: everything was blurry and indistinct, and it took incredible effort to keep her eyes open. But she saw a blob receding into the dim distance, and it was enough to entice her into closing her eyes and trying again. Still blurry, but more in her periphery. Again and again she tried, each time her vision growing slightly better, until finally her eyes reconciled the blobs and shapes of her surroundings into a more recognizable form.

It was a dimmed hospital room, and if her currently sluggish brain was recalling details correctly, it looked quite like a room in Huerta Memorial on the Citadel. She glanced to her left and found what was likely the source of the prior whirring sound. And to her right was —

A chair, pushed under a bare table.

Not a soul in sight.

A leaden weight seemed to sink into the very pit of Shepard's stomach. If there was no sign of anyone around, did that mean that they — did that mean that something happened during — ? Did that mean that Garrus was hurt? Or — or worse?

She pushed the thought aside, unable to bear thinking about it. Perhaps she'd...perhaps she'd been whisked away by some radical organization again, expecting her to do their bidding. Yes, perhaps that was it — despite the overwhelming evidence that she was, in fact, in Huerta Memorial (whose name she could now see in bold lettering on the wall to her right).

That had to be it.

The thought of anything else just —

It just —

Her mind began drifting off, the thoughts too heavy to sustain further consciousness. And with her mind went her vision, and soon Commander Shepard drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>The next time Shepard awoke felt much more natural. Her body seemed to finally remember its functions, allowing her to slowly open her eyes to the brighter light that had drawn her into consciousness in the first place. Unfortunately, in remembering those bodily functions, it managed to remember how to be in pain as well. Amid the unpleasant grogginess that was weighing down her head, there was a vague pain that seemed to ripple out from any limb she tried to move and a sharp, throbbing ache in her face, particularly around her eyes. It was not nearly as pleasant as the nice, soft fog from earlier, and she found herself wishing she could go back to that blissfully painless state.<p>

"Shepard?"

The sound of a word — of her name — briefly threw her mind into chaos, and it felt as though her eyes flitted about the room in every direction until finally settling on the direction of the sound's actual location. There, her eyes found a blue-skinned something sitting in the chair which lifted the unpleasant weight in her stomach considerably.

"L-Liara?" Shepard attempted to croak — the actual croak that escaped her throat could hardly be called a word.

"Shepard, I'm — I'm glad you're awake," said an unscathed Liara, her voice calm but her face betraying a sort of intense relief. It was the kind of face that made Shepard wonder just where on the spectrum of _not dead _to _deader than dead _she had been in the time before she regained consciousness. She opened her mouth to attempt speaking again but realized that it would produce the same result as last time; fortunately, Liara was quick on the uptake and offered her a cup of ice chips.

"Here, suck on some ice," she said, bringing the cup to Shepard's lips. Grateful for any form of moisture she could get, Shepard tried to lift a hand to take the cup but found that she likely wouldn't have been able to hold anything with it anyways and instead allowed Liara to shake an ice chip from the cup and into her mouth. The coldness of the ice and the subsequent moisture from the melting water did wonders, and within a minute or so, she felt ready to try speaking again.

"Liara," said Shepard hesitantly. Her voice was raspy and her throat still felt dry, but she managed to say it nonetheless. So she said it once more, this time with more confidence: "Liara."

The sound of her name seemed to relieve Liara greatly — her shoulders relaxed, and she seemed to silently let out the air she'd been holding in. "Shepard, how do you feel?" she asked.

"Like shit," was the only way Shepard could sum up her feelings at this time. Liara gave a small laugh.

"That's — to be expected."

"Are you hurt at all?"

There was something odd about how that question seemed to take Liara by surprise. "I'm fine," she finally managed to say. And, in an obvious attempt to cut off questions, she offered another ice chip and asked, "So what can you remember from before you woke up?"

Shepard thought for a moment, rolling the ice around her mouth. "I was in the Crucible, and there was this kid there," she said, her brow furrowed in concentration. "He said some things — and I shot at something — and there were explosions. That's — that's all I can remember."

"There was...a child?" said Liara incredulously.

"Yeah, he looked — almost like a VI? AI? Said some things...Didn't make any sense. Why would they — why would destroying — I — sorry, I can't remember..."

"It's okay, Shepard. No need to push yourself now," Liara said with a small smile.

"Liara, where's Garrus?"

The way Liara tensed up was definitely not a good sign. "Is Garrus okay?" said Shepard, putting a hand on the bed railing and struggling to sit up. "Is he hurt? Where is he?"

"He's fine, he's fine," Liara said, putting a hand on Shepard's shoulder and gently pushing her back down and giving Shepard some attempt at a reassuring smile — but all Shepard could see was the hesitation and unease in her eyes. "He's — on Palaven right now."

On Palaven?

Something in her seemed to fracture. A selfish thought briefly crossed her mind: If he was fine, why wasn't he the one to greet her as she woke?

"H-how long was I out?" Shepard asked slowly, letting her hand slip from the bed railing.

"Quite a while, so don't try to push yourself too hard."

Bit of a non-answer.

"Liara, how long was I out?" she ventured again.

"You've just woken up, it's important not to —"

"Liara!"

Liara fell silent, just barely flinching at Shepard's voice. Shepard took a deep breath.

"Liara. _How long_ was I asleep?"

It was Liara's turn to take a deep breath. Shepard mentally steeled herself. Would it be two years again? Four?

"Twenty-seven years."

Shepard blinked.

"I'm sorry. _What?_"

The calm, demure Liara that had been there seemed to be suddenly replaced by the young Liara that Shepard had rescued on Therum.

"T-twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven, Shepard."

Surely she wasn't hearing properly.

"What?"

Liara looked uncomfortable, her face a mixture of pity and...guilt, perhaps? "Twenty-seven years," she said again, softly this time.

With that face — no, there was no way she was lying. And Liara wasn't one to joke around.

"But — twenty-seven — ? How — why — ?" Words tumbled out of Shepard's mouth almost at random. Her mind was losing its grip, it was slipping, losing control in the torrent of jumbled thoughts racing through it. _Twenty-seven years_. How was this possible? Who had done this? Why? For what reason? Por qué? Pour quoi?

She hadn't even realized that words had stopped coming out of her mouth — she was staring blankly at the ceiling, mouth slightly agape. A heavy feeling was weighing down her entire body, as a constant stream of _why, why, why this, why me, why again_ filled her thoughts. Wasn't it enough that she had given her entire being not once but twice to suicide missions? She had given her entire being to the _whole galaxy_, she had given everything she had and more...So why now? What insurmountable obstacle existed that needed Commander Shepard _specifically_, twenty-seven years later, to conquer it?

"_Why…?_" was all Shepard could eke from her tightening throat, turning her bleary eyes toward Liara.

"We're still trying to figure that out," Liara said softly. "The quarians found you in a stasis pod in the Perseus Veil in an unmarked frigate. There weren't many people inside, most looked like scientists and engineers, all of them dead...They tried to leave a message, but it's quite corrupted. I have some of my agents working to restore the data. They should be finished soon."

Shepard simply made a sound to acknowledge her words before turning her eyes back to the ceiling. Twenty-seven years. So that was why nobody had been waiting for her to wake up. So that was why Garrus was on Palaven and not here. She'd been dead to them. They'd moved on. She had been in limbo for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven.

Her heart felt as though it had been cleaved in half. There was no Shepard without Vakarian. No Shepard without Vakarian.

No Shepard without Vakarian.

But Vakarian — her Vakarian — her one turian — hadn't had a Shepard in twenty-seven years.

And now here she was.

She couldn't even begin to imagine how painful it must have been for him. And even though everything in her wanted to see Garrus, wanted to see him and hold him and kiss the scars on his face…

Her gut churned.

It was all wrong. Everything was wrong. She wasn't the type to feel sorry for herself, she wasn't the type to be suicidal, despite everything she had been through that could suggest the contrary. But now, after everything…

...Wouldn't it have been better if she'd just died? Again? For good this time?

"Shepard?" came Liara's voice softly. Shepard blinked and slowly turned her eyes to her. "Would you — prefer that I leave you alone? I can return later…"

"N-no, stay," said Shepard, her voice strangled. "Please."

"Of course."

Shepard wasn't sure how long they remained in silence, but she was glad for Liara's presence. After twenty-seven years, her friends — at least, the ones who remained — would probably be weathered by time, but Liara looked the same as ever. And seeing that sameness, seeing the same Liara that had been her friend, was all that was grounding Shepard and keeping her mind from careening into a dark abyss.

The silence had been so heavy that Shepard jumped slightly at the sound of the door sliding open. An unfamiliar human stepped in, very obviously a doctor and with a datapad in hand. "Good evening, Commander Shepard," he said congenially as he approached the bed, though he had quite the nervous smile on his face. "I'm Dr. Plunkett. How do you feel?"

Quite honestly, she felt like disappearing into the depths of nothingness. "Awful," was the more practical response.

Plunkett seemed wholly unsurprised and nodded as he held his omni-tool over her. "Vitals are looking good," he said, tapping something into his datapad. "Now, do you mind if we check how your arms and legs are doing?"

Whether Shepard minded or not didn't matter, as Plunkett pulled the sheets away without waiting for an answer. From there, he started on a battery of tests to verify the extent of her body's motor function. Fortunately, he was no-nonsense and wasn't one for idle chit-chat while working and it seemed like only a few minutes had passed before he was finished poking and prodding at her arms and legs.

"Everything seems in order, Commander," said Plunkett, tapping away on his datapad. "We were worried that the state of the stasis pod may have caused some lasting damage. I'll send nurses in to check your mobility a little bit later. One or two visitors in the room at most. No krogan. At least for another day." He gave Shepard a small smile before nodding to Liara and taking his leave.

Silence descended upon the room once more. Shepard has so many questions racing through her mind that she wanted to ask (although she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answers). One, however, stuck out the most in the sea of thoughts.

"Was it hard?" Shepard asked. "To pick up the pieces? After the Crucible fired?"

Liara took a moment to consider the question, before bowing her head slightly. "I suppose it was," she said, letting out a small sigh. "When the Crucible activated, it sent a sort of energy pulse through the mass relays. It destroyed the Reapers, but severely damaged our technology and infrastructure, including the relays. And E—" But she suddenly paused, and it was obvious on her face that she was reconsidering her words. "The Citadel was heavily damaged as well, and without the relays...In the end, Earth and the Alliance managed to support half the galaxy long enough for the relays to be repaired."

She paused for a moment, head bowed again. "In a way, having so much to rebuild helped keep me — helped keep people — sane. It was hard, thinking about all the...all the loved ones we lost," Liara said softly, eyes carefully averted from Shepard.

"I — I'm sorry," said Shepard. Objectively, she knew that if she hadn't made a choice — if she hadn't done what she did — neither of them would be in that room right now, but knowing just what her actions had cost…

"No, you're the _last _person who should be sorry," Liara said, her voice a mixture of surprise and indignation. "Things were hard, but I would endure them a thousand times over if it meant defeating the Reapers. Fortunately, one time was enough."

The smile on Liara's face was so genuine, so sincere, that Shepard couldn't help but turn the corners of her mouth up in as much of a smile as she could muster.

"I know it's been, well, twenty-seven years, but you should probably get some rest, Shepard," said Liara.

Shepard considered this a moment, but the idea of sleeping filled her with a sense of dread — she'd spent twenty-seven years drifting alone in a limbo between life and death, and had the _fortune _of finding out that she'd been preserved for reasons unknown. She couldn't help having the tiny fear that, should she dare close her eyes again, she'd wake to find herself alone.

Liara smiled reassuringly, as though sensing Shepard's reluctance.

"Get some rest. I'll be here."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wrote some things during the downtime at work. Not very good, but I hope it's entertaining. It's going pretty slow...Maybe I'll have more time to get to the real action soon._


	3. Decima

**Invictus**

* * *

><p><strong>III: Decima <strong>

"_You have altered the variables."_

_A voice echoed around her in the undulating darkness. She squinted, trying to make sense of the dark shapes that flowed around her._

"_There will still be losses, but no more than what has already been lost."_

_She wheeled around. That voice..._

"_You have altered the variables."_

_Explosions blossomed above her, illuminating distant ships against a backdrop of stars as they were blown into oblivion. She tried to open her mouth to speak — to say anything — to scream, but not a sound left her throat._

"_There will still be losses, but no more than what has already been lost."_

_An invisible force had its fingers wrapped around her throat, it was constricting her chest, paralyzing her mind — she couldn't tear her eyes from the destruction above her, and there was nothing she could do — she couldn't even move her body —_

"_Your time is at an end. You must decide."_

_People are going to die. _She _is going to die._

"_You must decide."_

* * *

><p>Eyes fluttered open.<p>

Her heart was pounding. Fear gripped her heart in a way that was entirely new to her: it was as though an iron vice had clamped itself over her chest as her heart and lungs tried desperately to break free. She felt as though she was spiraling out of control—there was nothing she could do to escape these feelings, nothing she could do to keep from suffocating.

Panic began welling up within her. People were going to die. She was going to die.

She was going to die.

She _is_ going to die.

"Shepard? Shepard!"

The sound of Liara's voice shot through the chaos in Shepard's mind. Using that as an anchor—the voice of a friend, the voice of someone alive and _there_—Shepard slowly reeled herself in as the fear loosened its grip on her heart. She blinked, struggling to make sense of what she was seeing, before finally she realized that Liara was standing over her with a hand on her shoulder, gently but urgently trying to shake her back into reality.

"What—I— Liara," Shepard sputtered.

"Shepard, what's wrong? What hurts?"

"N-nothing," said Shepard. She breathed in and exhaled slowly as the fear finally receded. "I'm—I'm okay. It was just...it was just a nightmare."

"I see. About—the Reapers?" Liara asked softly as she sank back into her chair.

"Yeah."

An uneasy silence fell upon them. Liara had a distant but knowing look on her face; it was likely that everyone in the galaxy had nightmares about the Reapers at some point.

"It's okay, I'm fine now," said Shepard with a small smile, anxious to fill the silence before it became too overpowering. Liara seemed reassured by Shepard's words, her body visibly relaxing even as she straightened up in her chair.

"The doctors want to see you on your feet today if you're feeling up to it," said Liara, peering at a note on her omni-tool. "I suspect the hospital director is getting anxious about the fact that half a ward has been locked down for nearly a week."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "Half a ward?" she said incredulously.

Half a ward...Half a ward in Huerta Memorial. That half a ward was tied up for a week just for her...it felt wrong somehow. Her mind raced—she'd already been brought back from the dead once, which exactly once more than most people got, so what right did she have to all of..._this_?

Immediately, compelled by a sense of duty with perhaps a smidgen of embarrassment sprinkled on top, she felt the need to get out of bed whether or not her body was ready for it. Which, when she gave it a moment's thought, it felt like it was. Yesterday she had felt groggy, likely due to the effects of sedation, but today she felt much closer to normal.

_Get up, soldier_, Shepard told herself, gritting her teeth and pushing herself upright.

"Shepard, don't get up so fast—"

It seemed as though every muscle in her body protested at the sudden movement, but it was not any pain she hadn't felt before and wasn't anything she couldn't handle. And before Liara could get another word out, Shepard swung her legs out from under the sheets, exhaling in relief as she flexed her muscles back into life. She first worked her legs, relishing the feeling of circulation being restored, and then stretched her back, letting out a tiny groan as her back let out a series of small but immensely satisfying cracks. It certainly felt as though she hadn't moved in ages—not in twenty-seven years, she supposed. At least not under her own steam, anyways. She was quite pleased (and quite _relieved_) that her body felt to be in order, and was _extra _pleased that she hadn't recklessly attempted to move with, say, a broken femur. Or two.

"How do you feel?" said Liara, looking to her with a mixture of interest and worry.

"Not as shitty as I expected," said Shepard with a small chuckle. "I want to stand up now."

"Shepard—wait—!" Liara started, leaping to her feet as Shepard pushed herself off the edge of the bed.

Immediately her right knee buckled and, had Liara not been there to catch her, she would have found herself having an intimate moment with the floor. "Shepard, you don't need to push yourself so hard," Liara said, concern plastered all over her face as she pulled Shepard upright.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," said Shepard quickly as her brain _finally_ remembered which muscles were involved in the act of standing. It felt good to be upright again, pain and all.

"I suppose it was good that your catheter was removed," Liara said with a small chuckle.

_Glad I didn't get piss on myself my first day up_, Shepard thought wryly.

Shepard had always been a fast healer—she came back from the dead _twice_ now, after all—so it only took a few trips to the far wall and back to get back into the groove of walking. At first, Liara had hovered anxiously at her side, ready to catch her in case her legs decided enough was enough, but eventually she stood aside with a small smile on her face.

"Look at you go, Shepard," she laughed as Shepard returned from her third trip to the far wall. "You'll probably be well enough to just run away from the hospital by the time the doctors arrive."

They shared a laugh as Shepard sat at the edge of her bed to take a rest. This felt nice: life was simple right now in her hospital room, and would be significantly less nice once she was deemed well enough to leave it. But she didn't want to think of it right now. She had been so bereft of good feelings before—well, before she had activated the Crucible—that she wanted to hang on to them as long as possible in case some new galactic crisis reared its ugly head.

It was some time, or at least it felt like it, before a nurse arrived to check on her. By then, they had fallen into light chitchat about the state of the Citadel and the Council (and to no surprise, the politicking was alive and well). Evidently the Council had been expanded to include all the major races involved in the Reaper War, and the political drama had, of course, increased with it. She could only imagine how Council meetings went with an elcor Councilor now in attendance.

The pair looked to the door when they heard a knock. "Well, looks like you've already gotten a head start on walking, Ad—Commander," said the asari nurse when she entered the room. "My name is Narra. How do you feel?"

"Stiff and a little weak, but I can walk all right. No pain or anything," Shepard said. Narra nodded and made a note of it on her omni-tool.

"Very good. The doctors have reviewed everything and say you can be discharged tomorrow if you're up and about," she said with a smile. "All right, let's go ahead and see how you're doing, Commander. If you'll please stand up for me, we can get started."

A little medical drone emerged from Narra's omni-tool and obediently waited for Shepard to get to her feet. Once upright, the drone flitted about Shepard's body, making small noises every so often as it examined her. "Now, Commander, please walk to that wall and back," said Nina, gesturing to the now-familiar wall.

With each task that Narra gave Shepard, the drone followed along and gathered its data. Narra had Shepard stepping sideways, walking on her toes, walking on her heels, and walking backward; she kept expecting some sudden pain, or to find that a little muscle in her ass wasn't working right, but apart from the stiffness, everything felt perfectly fine.

"Everything looks good, Commander," Narra said when Shepard returned to the bed. "It looks like you have a bit of a limp in your right leg. It's probably related to the injuries from when—well, you know. Anyways, your back is holding up nicely, too."

"What do you mean, my 'back is holding up'?" Shepard asked curiously. It was sore, yes, and stiff, yes, but it didn't feel particularly different. Nina looked conflicted for a moment, before giving her an apologetic look.

"Dr. Plunkett should come by once he receives my report. I'm sure he'll explain everything," said Narra. With that, she took her leave.

"Shepard, do you mind if I step out for a bit?" said Liara, looking up from her omni-tool when Shepard sat herself back on the bed. "I've some—business."

"Of course. Take your time," Shepard said. A small feeling of apprehension tugged at her, but she pushed it away. Of course Liara had work to do—she couldn't..._babysit_ Shepard forever.

"I'll be back soon," Liara said, putting a reassuring hand on Shepard's shoulder before slipping out the door.

The heavy silence in the room was almost overpowering. Shepard thought that perhaps she should try to watch the news, or find a funny movie. But she was a bit hesitant; this room was the cocoon shielding her from a world that was quite possibly entirely new to her. She would have to leave eventually, and the thought of facing all those people—and all her old friends—made it difficult to breathe. Would the reason for her non-deadness be public? Would there be outrage that she had caused so much destruction? Would she be asked to save the galaxy from some immeasurable power? To give her life? Again?

Shepard felt terror grip her heart and wrap its claws around her lungs. She clutched at her chest as she struggled to breathe, her heart pounding as she struggled to regain control. But there was no control to be had—she felt like she was spiraling—like she was going to die—

It was an eternity before the feeling finally faded. She lay on the bed, clutching her chest and breathing heavily. The faint urge to hold a rifle crossed her mind, and her fingers clenched ever so slightly.

_What the hell_.

When the door opened half an hour later, Shepard expected Liara or Dr. Plunkett. It was not Liara or Dr. Plunkett, and in fact was someone who seemed vaguely familiar in shape but was otherwise a stranger.

"Who are you?" Shepard asked, sitting up slightly when the stranger merely smiled and did not introduce herself.

"They said your memory was intact, Shepard. Can't believe you forgot me."

Shepard narrowed her eyes at the sound of the voice. It was so familiar...

"_Tali?"_ she sputtered.

A familiar laugh filled the room. "So you remember me after all," Tali said, a grin on her face. "I guess it can't be helped that you were mostly dead for twenty years."

Shepard had only seen Tali's face clearly a couple of times because of the ever-present helmet, but here was her quarian friend, distinctly not dead and, most importantly, without a helmet. "Tali—your helmet," was all Shepard managed to say. Tali laughed, and Shepard was struck with how her skin seemed to move with her face: quarian skin looked thick—thicker than human skin—and was almost scale-like in texture.

"We still need the suits most of the time, but we don't get sick if we don't have a helmet on as long as it's for a short time," said Tali, smiling and taking Liara's seat. A brief silence fell between them; Shepard was overjoyed to see that Tali was alive but was having trouble finding words, and Tali seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

"I can't believe you're alive," Tali said finally, when it was clear that Shepard could not decide on which words to say.

"Yeah…"

"One of my patrols found you. I—I was the one who brought you here."

Well, that was a surprise.

"One of your patrols? Where exactly did you find me?" Shepard asked incredulously.

"In the Perseus Veil. You were in a derelict frigate, just drifting along. It was lucky that the patrol decided to investigate," Tali explained.

"What the hell was I doing in the Perseus Veil?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Shepard. We were hoping maybe you'd have some idea, but I guess not."

She had absolutely zero idea. What in the _hell_ was she doing in the Perseus Veil? How did she even get to the Perseus Veil when the Crucible had fired from the Local Cluster? Who, then, had taken her there?

"Th-thank you, Tali," Shepard managed to say amid the chaos in her mind. "I—I don't know what—"

"It's okay, Shepard. I'm just happy you're here. And that we found you, and not some pirates." Tali smiled. There was something about seeing her smile without the helmet visor that Shepard couldn't help but grin.

It didn't take long for them to get to talking like old friends again. Tali told her all about the progress they made on Rannoch, and how many quarians could tolerate places like the Citadel without helmets now—for short periods of time anyway, before they would need to retreat back into their enviro suits. It was generally done for occasions like meeting with important people or attending important events, although some quarians elected to always wear their helmets while offworld as a mark of quarian pride. It made Shepard happy to hear that Rannoch was doing well after everything that had happened.

The news that the geth had been destroyed, however, was decidedly _not _happy.

"What do you mean, all the geth were destroyed?" Shepard said, frowning.

"When the Crucible fired, it fried a lot of high-level tech. The geth included," Tali said. She looked entirely too calm about the whole thing for Shepard's liking, and she could feel that unwanted but familiar anxiety begin to creep in. She had been so desperate to end the war that destroying the Reapers had trumped all other things—but had she really destroyed the geth?

"So—so just like that? Dead?"

Tali saw her distress and seemed to stifle a chuckle. "Yes. It's not as though we couldn't rebuild them, though," she said lightly. "It had to wait until things like the mass relays were repaired, but many quarians were for rebuilding them. We didn't know how the Crucible blast worked, but for the most part all geth backup data was repairable. For the most part. There was some difficulty restoring the data, but after that it was just a matter of giving them new platforms."

Her body filled with relief to hear that the geth were okay, and she forced herself to exhale slowly in an attempt to alleviate the anxiety within her.

"Are you okay, Shepard?" asked Tali, leaning in to peer at her face more closely.

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

But when Tali did not lean back, Shepard arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Did you ever find out what these things are in your skin?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Shepard frowned. "What? What things?" she asked in confusion.

Tali looked taken aback by the fact that Shepard had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. She leaned in, holding up her wrist in front of Shepard's face. Her omni-tool blinked into life, and to Shepard's surprise, she found herself looking at a very high-definition full-color hologram of her own face. But once the shock of seeing the colored omni-tool display wore off, she saw the "things" Tali was talking about: her face was criss-crossed quite obviously with some sort of grid of hair-thin wires, and when Shepard looked down at her arms, she could see the faintest sign of them underneath her healing skin. She hadn't noticed the ones on her arms since she'd been preoccupied with the larger wounds, but the ones on her face—it was clear that the doctors had applied medi-gel to heal the skin over the wires. She pulled up her hospital gown and peered at her legs, and found that they too bore signs of this wire grid.

"I have no idea what these are," said Shepard in horror, gently prodding one of the wires in her cheek. Nothing happened when she did, and the wires (or were they even wires?) were so thin that she didn't feel a thing. What could they possibly be for?

Tali turned the omni-tool display off and shifted uneasily in her seat. "Sorry, I thought you already knew about it," she said guiltily.

"Ah no, it's fine, I would've found out sooner or later," Shepard said. "I'm sure the doctors will have some idea of what they're for."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"Oh," Tali said suddenly, a smile on her face, "did Liara tell you that the no krogan visitor rule was because Grunt and his children kept trying to rush into the ward?"

"Grunt, _no._"

* * *

><p>It was obvious that Liara and Tali had some part in controlling the number of visitors that came by (which was zero). Shepard was actually grateful for that—it was overwhelming just meeting twenty-years-later Tali, and she couldn't imagine having to face a slew of regular people in that little hospital room, let alone Grunt and a brood of young krogan. She felt better, however, with each passing moment; she was ready this morning to face more people, both mentally and physically. She hadn't mentioned to the nurse last night about the panic that had shaken her, but she hoped that it was nothing. It was <em>probably<em> nothing.

Dr. Plunkett had briefly returned yesterday, but only had "we're still analyzing the data" to say about the grid embedded in her skin before taking his leave. Liara had been monitoring the goings-on in Huerta Memorial and had discovered that the Council and the Alliance have been communicating with the doctors and had ordered Plunkett to keep things as hush-hush as possible until Alliance people could come brief her on the situation. It didn't sound pleasant in the least, but considering that Shepard was effectively a prisoner of the hospital ward, she figured she should just play along until she knew just what was going on.

At least this morning she was able do said playing along in clothing other than a hospital gown, as Narra had delivered Alliance dress blues with breakfast. Shepard never really liked the dress blues—they always felt too stiff and constricting—but they were a welcome change from the hospital gown. The stiff collar irked her more than usual today though, and it made her slightly anxious that it was so snug around her throat. Were dress blues always like this?

"I expect someone from the Alliance will be here any minute," Liara said as Shepard fiddled with the collar in the bathroom mirror. After a few moments, she tore herself away from the mirror and shut the bathroom door behind her.

"Is the collar bothering you?" Liara asked, worry flickering across her face.

"A little bit, but I'll be fine." She gave one last futile tug at the collar. "Hey, Liara?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," Shepard said softly, "for staying here with me."

"Of course, Shepard," said Liara, her face softening. "It's what friends do."

They stood in silence while they waited for the Alliance whoever-it-was to show up and explain whatever it was they were going to explain. Shepard hoped that they would have some answers for her, though she expected that if answers weren't forthcoming, Liara would be more than happy to share once they were free of any monitoring that was going on in the ward.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally slid open to reveal three humans, two of which Shepard didn't know. The one that she _did_ know was Admiral Nitesh Singh, who had commanded the Third Fleet of the Alliance Navy.

"Admiral Singh, sir," she said sharply, saluting as all the people piled into the room.

Admiral Singh returned the salute with a smile—which rather surprised Shepard, as he had the reputation of being, well, a bit of a hardass. "No need to sir me, _Admiral_ Shepard," he said.

Shepard faltered.

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

"I thought you would've found out by now," Singh said, glancing at Liara before turning his eyes back onto Shepard. "You were posthumously promoted to admiral following the conclusion of the Reaper War. I think you're the only person in the universe with the opportunity to enjoy a posthumous promotion."

Admiral Shepard.

_Wow_.

"I am Councilor Zoya Matviyenko," said the woman, though Shepard wasn't sure that she heard her name clearly as she was still reeling from the admiral promotion.

"And this," Matviyenko continued, gesturing to the young-ish man standing beside her, "is Henry Chen, one of my assistants."

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said Shepard, nodding to the both of them. Neither of them looked particularly friendly, though Henry looked significantly more neutral than the rather hawkish Matviyenko.

"We're going to need your friend to go," said Matviyenko. Shepard managed to catch a brief look of disdain as the councilor glanced at Liara; she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly—her gut told her that this councilor was going to be a _lot_ like Udina.

"Liara stays," Shepard said, fixing Matviyenko with a firm stare. "Anything you have to say to me, you say to her as well."

"Shepard, it's all right," Liara said quickly when Matviyenko bristled indignantly. "I'll come back when you're finished here."

Shepard wasn't surprised to see that Matviyenko was unused to being challenged in such a way. Truthfully, she wouldn't have objected to Liara leaving if Matviyenko hadn't said it the way she did—but she did and now Shepard was on guard.

"We're here to go over the details of your sudden appearance," said Singh. "Have you been informed of your...circumstances?"

"Yes. Admiral Zorah told me herself that her patrol found me in the Perseus Veil in an unmarked frigate."

"Good," said Singh, nodding. "It was unmarked, but it was a Normandy-class Alliance frigate. Whoever took it was Alliance and knew what they were doing. They removed any potential electronic identifiers, but all signs indicate that it's the SSV Vienna, which went missing shortly after the end of the war."

"How did it just go missing?"

"The pulse from the Crucible disabled all our high-level tech. For a while, we were flying blind out there," Singh said, shaking his head. "A lot of ships didn't make the rendezvous. Some managed to make it back after the fact, some just disappeared. We found some wreckage here and there, but with everything broken down, it was a mad scramble to get things up and running again."

"We didn't come here to give Admiral Shepard a recap," Matviyenko interrupted impatiently, and Shepard could tell that Singh was doing all he could to keep a pleasant look on his face.

"Then what _did_ you come down here to do, ma'am?" Shepard asked, frowning. This councilor certainly didn't like to waste time beating around the bush.

"The fact is, you're a celebrity, Admiral," said Matviyenko, "and you're going to be hounded by the media for a good while. Henry is here to help you get _reaquainted_ with the Citadel, and to be your PR handler. He will be with you to help with the initial media wave."

"So basically, you don't want me running my mouth right at the get go," said Shepard wryly.

"Good to know that we see eye-to-eye. It's not every day that it's the second coming of the savior, so the people are out to get what they can out of it. Henry can provide sterilized statements for you to give when the need arises," Matviyenko said.

"I can handle myself," Shepard said, arching an eyebrow at the councilor.

"I wouldn't think of it that way, Shepard," said Singh. "It's more for your benefit that Henry will be assisting you—there are all sorts of reporters out there, and I'm sure at least one of them would be more than happy to run your reputation—and the Alliance's—into the ground if it meant driving viewership to their network. Henry is familiar with all of them, and he'll know which ones are...less than reputable."

"I see."

"Make sure to use some discretion once you leave here, Admiral," said Matviyenko, giving Shepard an almost accusatory glare before nodding curtly to Admiral Singh and turning to leave the room.

"I'll wait for you outside, Admiral Shepard," Henry said. He glanced at Singh before following the councilor out. "I'll send the doctor in now. And Dr. T'Soni."

The door didn't even have time to close before Liara and Dr. Plunkett stepped in. "Good morning, Comman—Admiral," said Plunkett.

"The doctor has briefed me on their initial findings when they removed you from the stasis pod," Singh said, glancing toward Plunkett. "But further investigation has yielded some—interesting results. Doctor, if you please."

"First of all, I'd like to go over the state of your synthetic implants," said Plunkett. He pressed something on the wall and immediately, a holographic (multi-colored!) screen blinked into life. Her skeleton was displayed, with various bones highlighted. "All the implants Cerberus put in you had been replaced, likely due to the damage from the Crucible blast. New implants were added, mainly in your left wrist, ribs, and lower spine. We were honestly a little worried that your spinal cord had been damaged or that you'd be in a lot of pain, but I'm happy to say that we were mistaken."

"And what about these...wire things in my skin?" Shepard asked, bringing a hand to her face. The apologetic look on Plunkett's face was, to the say the least, disheartening.

"We're not sure, I'm sorry. Dr. Jomus does have a promising theory," said Plunkett, tapping a button on the screen. It changed to a rotating model of Shepard's body, with thin lines crisscrossing over her contours. "She thinks that it may be some sort of shielding mechanism they built into your skin. We unfortunately don't know exactly what it would be shielding, or even how to activate it."

So the doctors didn't know. She had been banking on the hope that they would have discovered _something_, anything, that could explain just what was going on…

"We did examine them closely and it turns out they're some kind of closely-spaced synthetic electronics embedded in your skin. Not wires, even though they look like it at a distance," Plunkett continued. "We took a biopsy of a small section of it, which is how Dr. Jomus came up with her theory."

"Do you think it's dangerous?" Shepard asked, unconsciously rubbing her arm. Her skin suddenly felt like it was crawling, and she had to stifle the urge to scratch at her face.

Plunkett looked completely undecided on the matter. "At this time, I don't think it's a danger to your health or to anyone around you." He paused a moment, as though thinking over his words. "It's hard to say exactly what would happen if it activated, of course, but Jomus and I are 100% sure that it won't cause any harm, at least to anybody other than yourself."

_Well, that's comforting, _Shepard thought, grimacing.

"So you wouldn't be worried about having Shepard out among civilians?" Singh asked.

"Oh no, not at all," Plunkett said quickly. "We wouldn't have cleared her for discharge if we thought it was dangerous to let her loose."

"Good, good," said Singh, nodding in satisfaction. "Anything else, doctor?"

Plunkett looked to Shepard. "We just need you to come for weekly checkups, but we'll send you an e-mail once a schedule is set up."

"Good. Then if you don't mind, I need to speak with Shepard and Dr. T'Soni privately."

The doctor left with a nervous "thank you" to Singh, leaving the three alone in the room. "There's just a few more things I'd like to discuss while things are calm," Singh said. His voice had taken on a more somber tone, enough so that Shepard began to mentally prepare herself for any news that might be looking to hit her in the gut.

"While we were investigating the SSV Vienna, we looked into the last known crew list before it disappeared." Singh paused, and Shepard wasn't sure if he was hesitating or if he was giving her a moment to prepare for the news. "It turns out that several members of Task Force Aurora were onboard at the time."

_Task Force Aurora? _Shepard thought in alarm. _Then that means—_

"Putting the pieces together now, right?" said Singh gravely.

"But, it can't be. That's impossible," Shepard sputtered, looking to Liara for some sort of support. She found none—Liara looked just as grave as Admiral Singh.

"The message recovery was completed last night," Liara said, her voice heavy. "It seems they—the scientists that took you—preserved you because you were the only one with direct contact with—well—" She trailed off.

Shepard glanced at the both of them, hoping for one infinitesimal moment that this was all some kind of joke. But their faces said it all: there was no joke, and they were deathly serious.

"Leviathan, Shepard."

_Son of a bitch._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Welp. Not sure how happy I am with this chapter, but I'm happy I finished it at all._


	4. Salus

**Invictus**

* * *

><p><strong>IV: Salus<strong>

A peculiar feeling began permeating through Shepard's body — it was something like apprehension, but also not like it, like frustration but also not frustration.

It felt like dying.

"Of course, we'll need to salvage much more data to make sure," Liara said hastily. "The frigate was housing servers with quite a bit of data, and we have people on it right now."

"I — I see," Shepard managed to croak.

"I know it can't be easy news to hear, especially after waking up from a twenty-seven year sleep," said Singh, his face apologetic. "Whatever this turns out to be if it even turns out to be anything at all, you'll have the Alliance's full support. I promise you that."

Shepard could only open and close her mouth in response. Her mind was racing: what could she possibly do against the Leviathans? Why did it have to be her specifically? Would another suicide mission be involved? What about—

Suddenly she felt Liara's hand on her shoulder. "Shepard," she said simply, reassuringly. Although it didn't stop the torrent of what-ifs and what-abouts in her mind, it did pull Shepard back into reality long enough for her to take a deep breath and calm her nerves.

"I understand, Admiral. Thank you," Shepard said.

"Now, on to other matters," said Singh lightly, as though happy to be off the subject of Leviathan (which wouldn't be surprising). "We've arranged for an apartment for you on the Citadel while we get things sorted out. I'll come by in a few days to give you some time to settle in, and if you don't mind, there are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

None of that sounded very urgent, which put Shepard greatly at ease. "Of course, Admiral. Thank you."

"Now then, I think it's time for us to go," Singh said with a smile. "Matviyenko and Henry arranged for a C-Sec escort for you today because it's going to be an ordeal leaving the hospital. They're waiting outside the ward."

Shepard took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, steeling herself for what was to come. She felt nervous, honestly — the last time she had come back from the dead, she had been shot at and then whisked off into space by Joker with little ceremony. _This_ time she would have to bear the full brunt of the Citadel in her face, in her dress blues no less.

She tugged gently at her collar.

"All right. I'm ready."

With one last glance at the hospital room that had shielded her from the outside world, Shepard followed Singh and Liara out the door.

The hallway was, strangely, devoid of any people apart from Henry leaning against the wall and reading from his omni-tool. _Locked down indeed_, Shepard thought.

"A C-Sec escort is waiting outside the main entrance, Admiral Shepard," said Henry, his omni-tool dissipating. "I'm going to warn you now that reporters have been waiting outside for hours. Once we leave the hospital, I strongly suggest you only smile at them if you must do anything at all until we can get into our vehicle. We will take you directly to your new living arrangements."

That was interesting. Henry _strongly suggested_ rather than outright telling her what to do. Was this to be polite or did that mean he had no real authority over anything Shepard did? Not that she gave a damn whether he had authority over her; this was her second time coming back to life so she felt entitled to raise some hell if she damn well pleased. Now if only someone would give her a gun.

When they reached the door leading to the main lobby, Henry turned to speak again. "Some of your friends are waiting in the lobby. Just thought I'd warn you now."

Shepard gave him a questioning look, to which he replied with the "after you" gesture at the door. _Don't see the need to be so ominous about it_, Shepard thought in irritation as she stepped toward the door and watched the green panel spin as the door unlocked.

"SHEPARD!"

The last thing Shepard saw before being scooped up in a mass of armor and muscles was an enormous krogan charging at her. She didn't know what was happening other than the fact that she was being crushed into the neck of said krogan and that her spine felt like it might snap in half at any moment.

"Stop, put her down! _She just woke up after twenty years, do you want to be the reason she dies now?!_"

Immediately the arms crushing Shepard loosened and set her down — and it was then that she realized she was looking up at the face of none other than Grunt — _her _Grunt — who looked a little more scarred and slightly more worn but absolutely ecstatic to see her. "Grunt!" she exclaimed in delight, thumping him on the arm and pulling him into a hug.

"You sure you aren't part krogan? Hahahaha!" Grunt said, his deep laugh reverberating throughout Shepard's entire body. "Took you long enough to come back!"

When Shepard pulled herself out of the hug, she found a mass of familiar faces forming around her as the air filled with the sounds of familiar voices. There was Wrex, his seemingly unchanged figure looming behind Grunt; James, looking much less beefy than she remembered but with admittedly dashing age lines chiseled into his face to make up for it; Miranda, a smile on her still-youthful face as she scrutinized her, perhaps to see how her Cerberus fix-up job compared to this one; and finally a glimpse of Ashley, Tali and Jack (still sporting a partially-shaved head) standing a bit aways from the crowd.

Shepard was pulled into a whirlwind of delighted greetings and hugs — Shepard overjoyed to see that they had survived the bleak Reaper onslaught twenty-seven years ago, and in turn, they were overjoyed to find their commander and friend inexplicably alive after twenty-seven years. But it was almost too much for her, all this love; there was so much movement, so many voices saying so many things —

"Everyone, give Shepard some space," Liara said finally, her voice cutting through the air. Shepard breathed a small sigh of relief when everyone obediently backed off (except for Grunt, who was determined to stay at her side).

"I'm — I'm really happy to see all of you," Shepard said. She wasn't much of a crier, but she found her eyes beginning to well up with tears.

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but we really should be going. If you want to catch up, you should do it at your apartment," Henry interjected, though he shrank back in fear when Grunt whirled around and shot him a nasty glare.

"Heh, look at you and your fancy admiral title now," Jack called out with a laugh.

She glanced at Henry, who seemed rather impatient to go, and the receptionists and nurses who seemed equally ill at ease; Henry was right, it was time to leave. Huerta Memorial had been held up and inconvenienced for far too long on her behalf, and they were probably itching to get her out of their figurative hair. "Let's all get together soon, all right?" Shepard said, smiling and giving Grunt a pat on the arm.

"Yeah, fine," Grunt said in disappointment. "I'll bring the kids, they've been going crazy waiting to meet you."

_Grunt's kids_, Shepard thought in surprise (and slight horror). _Grunt has CHILDREN._

"Come on, Admiral, we should get going," said Henry, who was making no effort to hide his impatience now.

Reluctantly, she bid goodbye to her old companions and (a bit disappointingly) Liara as well, who was understandably loath to venture out into the crowd of reporters and promised to come to the apartment later in the day. She followed Henry and Admiral Singh — who had been waiting patiently while Shepard had been mobbed — to the main entrance, steeling herself when they paused at the door to allow her the time to prepare herself. She nodded at Singh when she felt ready, and with Henry to her left and Singh at her right, the doors slid open and she took her first step out into a Reaper-free Citadel.

Any mental preparation for meeting the reporters outside was rendered useless upon seeing the multitudes of eyes and drones looking directly at her. She realized (a bit too late) that while one reporter was easy to handle and could be punched with few repercussions, fifty-plus reporters and who knows how many more civilians was an entirely different story. It was eerie how quiet they were — that her return was enough to reduce brazen reporters to hushed whispers at the sight of her. It felt so surreal that Shepard wasn't sure how long she was standing at the entrance; it felt like time had been suspended before her.

After what felt like eternity, sound and noise seemed to explode all around her. C-Sec guards sprang into motion, acting as a barrier to keep the people from mobbing her as Henry urged her along on the tail of the C-Sec escorts taking them to their transport. Shepard couldn't help but feel that she should make some sort of statement to the people gathered there as there were so many of them, but hadn't really a clue what to say. "I'm Admiral Shepard and uh...I'm alive. Surprise!"

Sure, that would be a _great_ statement. Not.

But as she was being hurried along, she her eyes fell on a human pushing her way to the front of the C-Sec barrier. Her face was familiar — older but familiar — and had such pleading eyes that Shepard felt compelled to stop. She ignored Henry's impatient words urging her to pay no heed to them, and instead she approached this woman being jostled by C-Sec and reporters alike and pulled her out of the mob, much to the C-Sec guards' dismay. The crowd quieted down, either from surprise or anticipation or indignation that this woman had been chosen. The woman straightened her clothes with a professional air, but Shepard thought it was curious how she wasn't accompanied by a drone and wasn't reading data from an omni-tool.

"Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Admiral Shepard."

Shepard's eyes widened in surprise. Al-Jilani had survived. And she was — was she a reporter right now?

"I'm not here with an agenda, Admiral Shepard, or even as a reporter," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Then...what?" was all Shepard managed to say.

"I just wanted to say — " al-Jilani hesitated, as though selecting her words carefully. " — I wanted to be the first to say thank you, Admiral."

The weight of these words left Shepard unable to speak.

"We wouldn't be here now if it weren't for you and your sacrifices, Admiral Shepard," she continued. "It may not mean much, coming from me. But thank you. Thank you."

Shepard didn't know what to do. If she opened her mouth, she was likely to spew gibberish. But to see this older al-Jilani so calm and not antagonizing her in the name of a story — it was touching.

"I did what I could," said Shepard finally, straightening up and folding her arms behind her back. "But I didn't do it alone. So I — I should be thanking the rest of the galaxy, because I wouldn't have made it as far as I did without their support and their sacrifice."

Al-Jilani seemed amused by the response.

"You haven't changed, Admiral Shepard."

Shepard could only reply with a wry smile — what could she really say to that? She gave a sidelong glance at Henry, who was watching her calmly but with a clenched jaw, and figured it was probably a good time to leave. With one last wordless smile at al-Jilani who nodded in understanding, Shepard allowed the C-Sec escort to lead her away to the transport waiting further down the pathway.

"That was unnecessary, Admiral," said Henry once they boarded the transport, slight irritation evident in his voice.

"I knew that woman," Shepard said simply.

Henry shot her a brief look of disapproval before continuing, "In any case, you handled it well. If you _have _to speak to reporters, do it like that."

She didn't like his tone and was tempted to give a sarcastic retort, but decided against it — he was just doing his job after all, even if he was being annoying about it. And in the end, it didn't take long for Shepard to find something much more interesting to focus her attention on.

The rebuilt Citadel was beautiful.

Her last memories of the doomed station had been of bleak death and destruction. The Citadel here, the Citadel of _now_ was an entirely different story. Everything seemed so bright and clean and _new_; old structures that had existed for years upon years were destroyed or damaged when the Crucible fired, Henry explained, and so a good portion of the Citadel had been rebuilt. The buildings looked sleek and trendy (could a building be trendy?), and she could see that the tops of most had trees and other plant life on top.

"Those rooftop gardens are new. Reminds me of Earth a bit," Shepard remarked offhandedly as she stared out the window. Of course, rooftop gardens weren't a unique human invention, but the buildings and structures did look very..._human_.

"The Citadel was rebuilt in human space, so it ended up being humans designing a lot of the new structures," said Henry.

Shepard turned back to Henry in surprise. "It was rebuilt in human space? How did they move it back to the Serpent Nebula?" she asked.

"Oh, it wasn't moved back. We're orbiting Sol right now."

The way Henry had so casually thrown out that little tidbit caught Shepard off guard.

"What?" was all she could say.

"There was no way to — well — _pilot_ the CItadel anywhere, so the best they could do at the time was move it to the edge of the Solar System. The Citadel was severely damaged and nearly the entire population of Keepers had been killed," explained Henry with a slightly disinterested look on his face. "I suppose people just got used to its new location, and coincidentally its done wonders for the Alliance economy. There's always talk floating around about moving it back to the Serpent Nebula, but none of the Council races really want to commit the time and resources to move such a massive structure anytime soon, so here we are."

A fleeting emotion — amusement, maybe — appeared briefly on Henry's face when he regarded Shepard's incredulous expression. "Of course, not everyone is happy about it," he said, turning away to look ahead through the windshield, "but naturally the most vocal ones are the ones who can't do anything about it."

"Glad to see that things are just how I remember," said Shepard wryly as she turned back to the window.

It was a relief that Henry wasn't the type for unnecessary conversation; he spent the rest of the time in silence, examining something or other on his omni-tool (his full-color omni-tool!). Shepard much preferred watching the passing scenery of what she realized was the Tayseri Ward. It had been badly damaged when Sovereign had exploded, and had been perpetually under repairs during all of her past visits to the Citadel. It was nice to see that it was finally rebuilt.

"The Alliance has arranged an apartment for you here in Tayseri Ward," said Henry as the transport came to a gentle stop. "It's nothing special, but it should suit your needs. I would suggest not throwing any wild parties here."

The look Henry gave her made it quite obvious that the _one_ party she threw while on shore leave had gone down in infamy. It really wasn't fair — it was just the _one_, after all…

"Standard-issue Alliance clothing has already been delivered, and you'll be receiving a stipend from the Alliance for basic living needs," Henry explained as he led her into a tall apartment building and into an elevator ("Welcome home, Admiral Shepard," the door VI said pleasantly). "I'm told the Alliance has granted you an extranet mail account, the details of which should be in the apartment already."

"I remember being told to go back to the hospital for a checkup," said Shepard. Henry nodded, glancing back at the document open on his omni-tool.

"Yes, I believe they've sent the details to your Alliance mail account," Henry said as the elevator released them on the twenty-fifth floor.

She followed him down the silent hallway for quite a ways until they reached the last door. He pulled a small, slightly translucent keycard from his jacket pocket and held it up to the door, which let out a pleasant _beep_ before sliding open. "The apartment building provided this keycard since you don't have an updated omni-tool yet," Henry explained, leading her into the apartment's entryway. "But if you want to register your biometrics to the door, the VI in the lobby can help you."

"Okay, I'll do that, thank you."

If Shepard had wanted to say anything else, she wouldn't have had the words.

The apartment was beautiful.

Of course, she'd lived on a cramped ship for ages so it wasn't hard for shore accommodations to be superior, but _damn_. The apartment was on the corner of the building, and all the walls facing the Ward were not walls at all, but floor-to-ceiling windows allowing the brilliant artificial sunlight to pour into the room.

The living room was modestly sized (and definitely not large enough to throw a huge party in), with light wooden flooring and a simple white couch and black coffee table, but the fact that she had such a wonderful view of the Ward down below...On a spacecraft it was dark space all around, so to have a view that didn't consist of deep colors and pinpricks of light was a _very_ welcome change.

"Is the Alliance really paying for this?" Shepard muttered to herself in awe.

"I believe your housing stipend covers the cost of rent," said Henry, slight amusement in his voice as he peered at some sort of checklist on his omni-tool. "The place isn't really that big — there's only one bedroom and bathroom, and a small kitchen. Which," he paused to gesture toward a doorless room, "has been stocked with a small variety of levo instant meals. You'll have to do some grocery shopping if you want anything more — the VI in the lobby can tell you where to go if you want to do that in-person."

Shepard nodded absently — she was still marveling the view outside. The people down below looked so tiny and far away and for some reason it felt calming.

"Your clothing and basic toiletries should be in a box in your bedroom," Henry continued down his checklist, gesturing toward the room that had a door without looking up. "There's a configurable cleaning drone that should take care of cleaning the floors and the bathroom. Each room has access to the apartment system via holo terminal, and when you have your omni-tool, you can sync that to it. Anyways, these are all standard things, really, so you should be able to manage."

He paused briefly to see if Shepard had anything to say. "If you don't have any questions," he said when it was clear she had none, "I'll be on my way."

There was a little bite in his words — he probably was itching to get to more important things.

"Thank you, Henry."

With a nod, he took his leave.

She stood for a moment at the window as the heavy silence of the place began to overcome her. A creeping feeling of unease began welling up in her, but she didn't wait long enough to let it take hold and immediately made her way toward the kitchen. It was simple enough, with the basics and little else: a refrigerator, four-burner stove, some cabinets, drawers that presumably held some amount of silverware, a microwave, a little bit of counter space, and a tiny little table that would seat one or two people, tops. She peeked into all the cabinets and drawers and found only the basics: one pot, one frying pan, two coffee mugs, and an assortment of cooking and eating utensils. The refrigerator indeed held only levo instant meals, and only enough for a couple days.

_Well, not like I need much more than this_, Shepard thought, wrinkling her nose.

The bedroom was equally simple, with a bed just large enough for her to splay her limbs out, a wardrobe set into the wall, and a small desk and chair. The room was along the outer edge of the building, though, and was graced with the same windows (and view) as the living room. She found that any portion of the windows could be rendered opaque via the apartment system terminal accessible on the desk and spent a few moments alternating between complete darkness, partial opacity, and full-on transparent windows.

Eventually she managed to force herself to stop playing with the window controls and moved on to rifling through the pair of boxes on the bed. The smaller box contained toiletries and a small assortment of over-the-counter meds. The larger one had several sets of standard-issue Alliance clothing — which, even twenty-seven years later, looked about the same as she remembered. She spent a moment holding a stack of pants, taking in their familiarity and running her fingers over the differences. Eventually she put them down, refusing to let herself reminisce, and pulled off her dress blues. The collar had really started to irritate her and it put her at ease to be wearing a t-shirt and loose pants again.

When she lifted out the rest of the clothing, finally dressed in clothing other than hospital gowns or dress blues, her fingers brushed against something at the bottom of the box. To her surprise, she found a pistol and waistband holster sitting at the bottom. It looked like a variant of the M-3 Predator pistol she often relied on in battle, and it fit about the same in her hands. The pistol felt familiar and was almost a relief to hold, almost as though it was a piece of clothing covering up some very private part of her. She imagined that the Councilor probably didn't want her to be running around with weapons so soon after being revived (or at all?), so whoever slipped it in here was obviously hiding it. She was grateful to have it, no matter the reason.

Once the pistol was safely holstered at her waist, she sank down onto the edge of the bed and held her head in her hands. Everything felt too perfect, too easy — she would be called on soon, and she would be needed. Her first death hadn't let her abandon her sense of duty as an Alliance soldier, and her second one sure as hell wasn't going to. But still, all this returning from the dead came with a price, and she was sure that whatever it was, some real shit was going to go down.

And if that shit was going to be Leviathan, then it was going to be _very real._ A Leviathan was a monstrously powerful creature — a _Reaper_ killer. And it had been hard enough for a coalition of galactic forces to even slow down the Reapers.

So what the _fuck_ was she supposed to do about the Leviathans?

Was Admiral Singh coming to visit and tell her that she'd have to rally the troops again? Call on the turians and asari, tell them to suit up and move out for another galaxy-saving operation? Get more engineers to scrounge up enough material for another superweapon so she can fire it?

She looked around the empty room and hugged herself, her fingers clutching at her shirt as her breaths came faster, her vision blurring. Dread and anxiety began creeping through her body, filling her mind. She didn't want to be here, she didn't want to be _the one_. But this desire was at odds with her — she couldn't abandon her duty, not if billions upon billions of lives depended on it.

Admiral Shepard cried.


End file.
